Hands
by Resha04
Summary: He liked watching him painting and sketching. He was there when the first attack came. Romano said it was ugly. Antonio said it was effort


**Song : May I (Trading Yesterday)**_  
_

**I do not own Hetalia nor the song  
**

* * *

_There you stand opened heart, opened doors. Full of life with the world that's wanting more._

Antonio liked watching Romano paint.

He liked seeing his face was serious, concentrated; how his eyes fixed on the canvas in front of him; his hands moved gracefully, stroking colors into it and making them blend.

He loved how Romano's face would soften and a ghost of a smile tugged on his lips when he examined his work. It wasn't rare either that he would frown instead, eyes sad and expression disappointed, and a bite on his lower lip.

Antonio didn't want Romano to be sad, but he knew it was inescapable. It wasn't rare that the Italian stated that his work was a failure and would look like that, not in front of anyone of course.

Antonio always watched him secretly, because Romano never allowed anyone to see his work or him working. Because for him, his skill and his works were nothing compared to his brother.

But Antonio also liked watching Romano drawing, or sketching.

He liked watching the movements of the small, calloused hand (was used to work at the garden, to cook, to clean, to pray), dancing gracefully on the paper as if it had the will of its own; the calm and relaxed look on Romano's face; and the scrunched eyebrows that showed his concentration and dedication.

Antonio did it secretly too.

It made him kind of a stalker, but hey, he was Romano's friend, so it was okay!

-o-

_But I can see when the lights start to fade, the day is done and your smile has gone away_

The attack came in a nice day in the summer.

Antonio had come over to the Vargas' house to visit his friend, like usual, and found him sitting in the shadow of a tree, his favorite tree, and was sketching. But Antonio hadn't even made it close when Romano flinched and dropped his pencil, holding his right hand with his left.

When Antonio rushed over to his side, tears had already escaped his eyes and he let out a whimper, his left hand gripping his right so hard his knuckles turned white.

-o-

His father and grandparents had gone through the same, they learned about it later. Pain attack to one of the hand, painful enough to let tears fall and rendered the person unable to hold things, even a pen, or a _pencil_.

His parents had hoped that their children would be able to escape the same illness, but they were thrown off the edge that day. There were only two options : it would heal over time like his father and grandfather, or it would stay and he would have to spend the rest of his life being left-handed like his grandmother.

It wouldn't be painful all the time. The attack would come as it please, in very unexpected moments. But it still was shattering.

Even more for the fact of how Romano used his hand for.

-o-

Attacks came after that.

And they caused broken objects, tears, sadness, and desperate look.

Romano still worked in the garden, tending the tomatoes and other plants with his father.

He still did cleaning, though only sweeping and moping and dusting the non-breakable objects.

He still did cooking, though he was only allowed to help washing the vegetables.

Romano didn't draw or paint anymore.

He spent his free times reading books or helping Feliciano tending the stray cats.

He looked fine, he claimed to be.

When they told him about the illness, his face was blank, and when he spoke his voice was calm and steady, and his tone was understanding.

But he was not.

And Antonio knew. They hadn't been friends for years without reason.

He was there at the time of most attacks, and he had seen the painful look, the bitten lip, the almost-escaped tears, and the despair in those eyes. And he could only watch, helpless.

-o-

_Let me raise you up. Let me be your love._

Antonio watched as Romano stood up again.

He watched as his Italian friend started to try doing things with his left hand.

He watched the awkward movements, the shaky hand, and the clumsiness.

He saw the determined eyes and the silent hope.

And Antonio had long since decided that he wouldn't only watch anymore.

He steadied Romano's left hand when it shook a bit; he reminded him that he still had his right hand to shift the position of things on his left; he gave him smiles and encouraging words; he showed him his faith.

-o-

Months passed and the right-handed Romano became a left-handed.

Sometimes he was still awkward, sometimes things still fell, but it became less and less.

Antonio cheered, Feliciano was teary-eyed, his parents smiled, and they celebrated.

After that, Antonio finally asked him,

"Why don't you try to paint again?"

-o-

It was more difficult.

His left hand was still not accustomed to hold brush and pencil. His strokes were clumsy and they ran out of their tracks. He couldn't make any painting.

It was the same with sketching. His sketches became awkward, his lines were shaky, and the result looked funny.

Romano said it was ugly.

Antonio said it was effort.

-o-

_May I hold you as you fall to sleep, when the world is closing in and you can't breath._

Antonio didn't blame him when Romano threw his brush across the room, thinking that he was alone. He approached him and slowly circled his arms around the smaller figure, letting him sputtered out his depression.

He let him cry.

And never once he thought he was weak. Even though when Romano himself said so.

Because people do fall, even the strongest ones. And the strong were the ones that still try, still stand up again, even after the greatest fall.

-o-

A year passed.

Romano still worked in the garden and cleaned and even cooked.

He still tried to paint and draw.

There were still the clumsy strokes and the shaky lines. But along with them came beautiful paintings and meaningful drawings.

Romano didn't understand why Antonio thought that way about his works.

Antonio said, because they were born from his effort, his tears, his pain, and his hope. For him they were beautiful.

-o-

The next year came. The second year after the first attack.

Attacks still came, but they were less frequent. When they did, there were still teary eyes and bitten lips. But there were no more the despair and the lost look.

The tomatoes grew nicely, producing fat and high-quality tomatoes under the bright and warm sun.

They got a set of porcelain dishes for a new year gift from their family in the city.

They ate dinner the twins made twice a week.

The cat Feliciano and Romano tended to bore five adorable kittens.

Romano's favorite tree grew more leaves, greener ones.

And Antonio had been watching again.

Watching as Romano's left hand moved smoothly on the canvas, each strokes soft and tender and hard, producing beautiful pieces.

Watching as his left hand danced gracefully on the paper, etching soft lines and hard lines; shadows; expressions and scenery.

But he no longer did it secretly.

His arms were around Romano's waist as the Italian painted.

And he sat next to him under his favorite tree when he sketched.

It was long since the feelings grew, but it wasn't long since small hand finally slipped into the bigger one.

_May I love you, may I be your shield._

_When no one can be found, may I lay you down._

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**A/N:**

**I know I should be continuing my 2 other fics (three?) but the idea of this oneshot reached me this afternoon so here it is.  
**

**Actually, I got the idea from an actual experience. My father was the one who experienced the pain attacks, and my mother told me that my grandparents also got that attack in the past. So I was wondering if one day I would get it too, and maybe it would be horrible because I use my hand for many things, like typing, writing, and drawing. But it turned out the attack wasn't permanent, and the reason my father got one because he spent too much time on laptop and blackberry (which made his back and arms stiff) and hasn't got many exercises. So the doctor advised him to do exercises frequently. And another reason is his cholesterol rate too. So he'll be fine :)  
**

**Okay, enough of my rambling. Constructive criticisms are always welcomed. :)  
**

**Thank you for reading! :D  
**


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